


Ten More Dates

by belmanoir



Series: Twenty Dates [2]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: AU after SummerSlam, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, the demon is real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 11:21:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7932730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belmanoir/pseuds/belmanoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follows immediately from "Ten-Date Rule." <em>Finn said ten more dates until Roman can have sex with him in the demon paint.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten More Dates

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrs_laugh_track](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_laugh_track/gifts).



> Goes AU after SummerSlam because I had most of it written beforehand. So Finn's injury isn't part of this story.

Finn said ten more dates until Roman can have sex with him in the demon paint. 

Honestly, Roman probably would never have thought of having sex in the demon paint—at least, not as something that wouldn’t just happen naturally after a big match—but now that Finn’s making him wait for it, he wants it pretty bad. It feels like something to build towards, a life goal for the next couple of weeks since this US title shot honestly doesn’t interest him all that much.

Four dates go by (one almost every day, including a morning paddleboarding expedition full of water and sun and Finn’s smile, and Roman is trying not to get ahead of himself with this relationship), and then Seth calls the demon out. From the dismissive way Finn talks to and about Seth, Roman is absolutely sure he’s going to leave Seth hanging.

He shows, though. Scares the shit out of Seth, which makes Roman happy but also makes his stomach curl up, that unwanted fucking lick of sympathy he can’t seem to stamp out whenever Seth looks unhappy or scared or even angry. Which is most of the time these days.

None of this is really Seth’s fault. Roman’s always known that. Seth isn’t well, or he’s so unhappy he can’t see straight, or something. Whatever it is, he can’t _help_ it, and people take advantage. Seth just wanted a night off, and Stephanie McMahon humiliated him on purpose. 

None of which means Roman doesn’t feel a cruel gladness when Finn kicks him in the face.

He waits for Finn behind the curtain after. “Hey, man.” He expects Finn to startle. Instead his head turns, a little too smoothly. Were his eyes always that dark?

Of course they were. It’s just a dimly lit hallway and the makeup makes everything look darker.

Finn smiles. “I’ve got your name on my leg.” He pulls his trunks up a couple of inches and there—not on his leg at all, definitely on his hip, one of the DEMON KINGs says ROMAN KING instead.

Roman swallows hard. “I, um, I’m not gonna say anything about that because if I do, this could get not safe for work in a hurry.” He can’t decide if he doesn’t like Finn’s smile in the makeup, or if he likes it too much. “Did you really just spend hours in a makeup chair for that?”

Finn blinks. Not—not a normal blink. “I wanted...to see the look on his face. He hurt you. I want him to be afraid.”

Roman feels a little more freaked out but also a little happier but also a little more protective of Seth. 

Fuck Seth, is the thing. “Dean beat the hell out of him about a hundred times,” he says anyway. “I’m pretty sure my honor’s avenged already.” He immediately regrets his choice of words, silently begging Finn not to bring up this thing with Rusev.

“I’m going to hurt him at SummerSlam,” Finn says calmly.

A shock of fear and worry and _yes yes yes kill him for me while I watch._ Roman hates himself.

Finn shakes his head as if to clear it. He did take a couple of pretty bad kicks. “Sorry, am I acting weird?”

“Little bit.”

“Sorry. I need to clean this off.” He sees Roman’s bruised eye and puts up a hand to touch it. His fingers are strangely hot. “Are you okay?”

“Pretty sure I deserved it. Don’t tell anyone I said that, though.” He doesn’t even know why he started shit at Rusev and Lana’s celebration in the first place, except that he was bored and they were happy and didn’t seem to care or notice that they were getting booed, and it pissed him off.

Okay, he guesses he does know why. 

“My lips are sealed.” Something about the way Finn says it seems too significant, and also makes Roman look at his lips, white and black, streaked with painted fangs.

“Hey, what do you say you and me get out of here?”

“ _No,_ ” Finn says way too sharply. “Sorry.” He shakes his head again. “I need to wash this off. Ten-date rule, remember? And your match.”

The match, right.

*

The match is a disaster.

Actually, that’s not true. The match is great. The match is amazing. But Roman hurts like hell afterwards. 

Finn’s waiting for him when he gets out of the shower. He looks sheepish and cute and normal again, wearing a Tapout shirt and smiling at something in his earbuds, and Roman’s embarrassed at how freaked out he was by the makeup. Not as embarrassed as Seth is probably feeling at the same thing, but still.

Roman hopes someone tells Seth they’re leaving together. Then he feels guilty, remembering Finn saying, _I’d rather you didn’t see me as some kind of weapon in your hand._ He drives them back to the hotel, trying not to say _Ow!_ every time he moves or touches anything. Finn offers to carry his bag, which Roman would really like to say yes to, but if anyone saw them he’d never live it down.

When they get into Roman’s room, Finn takes a jar of black bodypaint and a brush out of his bag. “I had your name on me. Turnabout is fair play, I think the saying goes?” 

Roman has no problem with that, especially since Finn lets him lie down in the soft bed first and smooths his hands across Roman’s chest, taking a time out for a little bit of nipple action. The evening is picking up.

Finn writes his name all over Roman’s untatted arm with an adorable frown of concentration, adding in some doodles of Spiderman leaping across Roman’s bicep or hanging upside down from the vein in his wrist. “Turn over.” He extends his drawings across Roman’s shoulder. “You have a nice freckle right here.” He kisses it.

That’s it. “My turn,” Roman says with a growl, flipping them over and taking the paint out of Finn’s hand. His body screams in protest, but that’s nothing new. He can almost feel a sense of accomplishment about it tonight. He had a good match.

Finn hesitates. “You can write,” he says finally. “Don’t draw anything.”

Roman doesn’t really get the point of the game, but he doesn’t need to if Finn thinks it’s hot. He writes “PROPERTY OF ROMAN REIGNS, EST. 1985” right across Finn’s chest, like those corny Performance Center t-shirts they all had to wear in developmental. “Can I draw my logo?”

Finn smiles up at him. “Yeah, that’s fine.” He hesitates again, and says reluctantly, “It’s not about what it is, it’s about how long it takes.”

What does that mean? Roman decides he doesn’t care right now. “Okay,” he agrees, rolling onto his side and pulling Finn in close. Paint is smearing on the sheets. He remembers Finn being embarrassed to call housekeeping, that first time. It was only about a week and a half ago, but they’ve had to ask for a lot of new sheets since then. Roman feels abashed and giddily proud about it, like kids getting caught kissing in the confessional.

He spoons Finn and fucks him that way, and he’s pretty sure he’s actually the one who’s Finn’s property now. He shouldn’t like that, but he does. It makes him feel safe.

*

A couple more dates go by. Finn drags him out rollerblading with Sami Zayn. Roman feels self-conscious about how much fun he has.

The eight date since the tenth date is their one-month anniversary. For some reason he feels uncertain about drawing attention to it, even though he’s never had a bad reaction to remembering an anniversary and one month is a 100% normal milestone to celebrate. He still remembers taking Galina to a steakhouse for theirs and ordering champagne with a fake ID. A month after the Shield’s debut, Seth bought a cake (most of which ended up in their hair) and Dean showed up with a paper grocery bag overflowing with illegal fireworks. 

Roman decides to go for it. He brings raspberries and raspberry sorbet to Finn’s hotel room, and a note with a bad drawing of raspberries wrestling on it. Finn beams and Roman feels...amazing. Like a catch. Even if they both know he isn’t.

*

Roman is more nervous about meeting Finn’s parents at SummerSlam than he is about his match. Finn seems like the kind of guy who takes his parents’ opinions really seriously. If Roman doesn’t make a good impression, it might bite him in the ass later.

Finn’s parents are tiny, very Irish, and surrounded by NXT kids wanting hugs, so meeting them takes about five minutes. Roman is left at loose ends. He’s been really looking forward to seeing Dean, but Dean is busy with championship shit. It already feels like a million years ago when that was Roman, dutifully sitting through interviews when he should have been warming up. So long ago he forgot Dean would have to do it.

He halfassedly warms up alone, shadowboxing in the locker room while Finn gets his parents settled in their seats with Sami Zayn.

He keeps thinking about asking Finn not to go after Seth’s knee. He wishes he didn’t want to, and he knows he can’t. Whatever Roman does or doesn’t owe Seth, whatever he does or doesn’t want to give him even if he doesn’t owe it, Finn doesn’t owe Seth shit. 

*

Roman knew Dean would kick Dolph Ziggler’s ass, and he does. 

Roman tries to remember being that happy about a championship win. When it wasn’t just relief he hadn’t failed and the internet wouldn’t explode again with pictures of him crying into confetti.

There was a time when titles were an uncomplicated pleasure. Seth took that away too, when he sold the Shield out to get one. When he loved that piece of leather and praise and brass more than he loved Roman and Dean, more than he loved himself. When he sold his soul for it. Titles are a drug.

It’s weird to look at Dean and remember they don’t have to be. Dean is happier than Roman’s seen him in a long-ass time. He’s glowing as he claps Roman on the shoulder. “Hey, I get a room to myself to watch this thing, you wanna join me?”

By the time they make it down the hall past everyone who wants to congratulate or suck up to Dean, Seth’s already in the ring, the camera right in his face. Roman feels a pang at how beautiful he is.

Finn’s music hits. So do about a hundred fog machines. Roman squirms when Finn crawls out of the smoke, trailing streamers as he goes. It seems to take him a year to reach the ring. He rolls his back as he mounts the steps, shoulders twisting and curving in a way that barely seems human.

Dean whistles, but Roman...he thinks maybe he doesn’t like the demon. It’s creepy cirque du soleil bullshit. Which Roman doesn’t have a problem with, he just doesn’t _get_ it. And that makes him feel vaguely stupid, and like maybe Finn is bored by him. Maybe he’d rather date Sami Zayn and talk about art and what makes something “good.”

Seth has rolled out of the ring and is standing ten feet away on the other side. Seth always had too much imagination for his own good. Then the camera cuts back to Finn crouching in the corner and Roman’s own imagination isn’t exactly being reasonable. _That doesn’t look like Finn,_ it says.

Roman likes Finn. He doesn’t understand why Finn isn’t enough.

Finn explodes out of his corner as soon as the bell rings, targeting Seth with ruthless speed. “Determined little sucker, isn’t he?” Dean says around a mouthful of popcorn.

Corey Graves is explaining the demon for people who never watched NXT. _“...the part of yourself you don’t want to think about and you only let out when you need to...”_ Finn goes sprawling into the timekeeper’s area. One of his hands appears on the barricade. Then the other. They crawl and creep too, with a life of their own like that hand in the Addams Family. Roman’s heart pounds. 

Dean laughs. “That kid’s got a flair for the dramatic.”

Getting Seth face down on the mat, Finn steps onto the backs of his knees. Seth struggles, making desperate sounds, but Finn forces his powerful arms back with seeming ease. _In two dates I’ll be having sex with that._ His dick twitches. It twitches again when Finn stomps hard on both Seth’s knees.

Roman doesn’t need bodypaint to bring up the part of himself he doesn’t want to think about.

Dean tosses a kernel of popcorn into his mouth. “Oh, _brutal!_ ”

_“...You have to wonder if the bad knee will hold up tonight of Seth Rollins...”_

If Finn puts Seth back on the shelf, will Roman be angry at him? Will he be able to still like him? What if he can’t? For a second, he almost does get the demon thing, as if this relentless, inescapable affection for Seth is an alien invader in his chest, pushing aside the good stuff that’s supposed to be in there. 

He has an impulse to pray, but he doesn’t know for what. _Please,_ he sends up anyway, a general sort of wish for everything to turn out all right. For Finn to win and Seth to be safe and for Roman not to lose this, _please_ , he needs it.

_“...It’s a lot easier said than done when you’re following in the footsteps of a T-Rex like Seth Rollins...”_

Dean cracks up. “So what does that make Finn, the weird invisible dinosaur from the new movie?” He’s getting on Roman’s nerves. Roman can’t stand that. He breathes through his nose, trying to calm down. It doesn’t work. He grabs Dean’s hand and squeezes it. Once he gets going he can’t stop, but Dean doesn’t object even though his grip must hurt. He shuts up and scoots his chair a little closer and holds out his popcorn to share. He lets Roman keep his hand. 

Roman loves Dean again. It was just a moment, everybody has awful moments. Everybody has a part of himself he doesn’t want to think about. He wants to tell Seth that. _It’s okay you imagined pushing us down the stairs. It doesn’t mean you didn’t love us. I know you did._

He catches Dean wincing and relaxes his fingers with an effort of will. As soon as he does, he wants to tighten them again. On the TV, Finn looks like he’s dying. Seth somehow still looks fresh. Finn’s been excited and giggly all week and he flew his parents in from Ireland and he was so thrilled to have his face on the giant SummerSlam banner outside. 

Roman suddenly hopes that Seth _hasn’t_ heard about him and Finn, that this beatdown isn’t partly his fault. He doesn’t have a _lot_ of hope. Not after all those _Everything you have, I had first_ speeches. 

“If Seth wins this match, I’ll kill him.” 

Dean gives him a sidelong glance. “I’m not trying to stick my nose in your business, but...” Roman flushes. “You and Finn, huh? You want me to give him the speech?”

“What speech?”

Dean blinks. “The ‘if you hurt him, I’ll tear off your fingernails and beat you to death with a shovel’ speech. No one ever told you I do that?” He grins. “Guess I’m pretty convincingly scary.” 

_“...If Seth Rollins puts away the Demon King here tonight, we will **never** hear the end of it...”_ They both burst out laughing, and Roman is so glad Dean’s here for this. Seth holds Finn’s limp body against his chest, whispering taunts in his ear. Roman doesn’t want to know what he’s saying. _“...Whoever wins the Universal Championship, you’re looking at the two young men who are going to carry Monday Night Raw through the New Era...”_

Dean snorts. “Please.” He glances at Roman and sticks his tongue out. “No offense to your little dude, but I gotta rep for my boy Sami.” He laughs. “And you, obviously.” Roman isn’t carrying Monday Night Raw anywhere, but it’s nice of Dean to pretend he thinks so.

Finn grasps dazedly at Seth’s tights. The eye on his back is mostly worn away, an empty socket of flesh with a faint black line for a pupil. Roman’s skin crawls. “This is my ring, you understand that?” Seth jeers. “This is _my. Ring._ ” Finn looks up, squarely in view of the camera, and Roman’s skin might actually shiver and slide right off. He’s not sure the demon does understand Seth’s words. 

He’s not sure he can understand words himself at this point. He’s dimly aware that Dean is waxing nostalgic about back in the day when Seth used to use the small package driver on him, but the specifics escape him. The camera zooms in on Finn’s face as he lies on the mat. The paint is smearing off. Roman can see his stubble emerging below the illusion of teeth, and for a second he wishes he was ringside to cheer Finn on. 

Probably that would just make things worse.

Finn doesn’t need it, anyway. He finds his second wind, going to the top rope again and again. Once or twice, Roman catches himself watching Seth, and turns his attention back to Finn with a stab of guilt.

Finn wins. 

He rolls out of the ring to grab his new belt and rolls wordlessly back in. Roman frowns. Is something weird about the way he moves? Or is Finn just exhausted and sore?

That’s not what he should be thinking about. He tries to decide how he feels—other than glad, of course. But he thought he’d be...happy. Joyful. He isn’t. It’s more like emptiness. 

But it's not that he’s jealous. Not one bit. Dean fought with all his heart today to retain his championship. Finn and Seth fought with every scrap of their souls to win one. Roman? Roman doesn’t give a shit. He just doesn’t. And now he’s got a match for the US Title. What if he wins? What if he loses? What is he even doing here?

Out in the arena, the crowd throw their arms in the air in unison. They love Finn. He stands on the turnbuckle, so beautiful, the lights illuminating his chest from below. Roman is going to love Finn one of these days. He can feel it coming like a freight train.

Finn hugs his parents, mumbling something, his eyes glazed. Something is wrong with him. No, it’s just makeup.

Roman can’t be here anymore. He can barely hold still for Dean’s hug and _Good luck, brother._ He should have been stretching or something. He has a match in less than five minutes. 

Reaching the curtain as Finn is coming through it, he gets the same glazed hug as Mr. and Mrs. Devitt. Finn’s skin almost scorches him. _That was some fight_ , he tells himself.

Roman goes down the ramp. _“...Roman Reigns would love to walk out of here tonight with the United States Championship...”_ He wishes that were true. Part of the crowd screams when he climbs onto the turnbuckle; that’s something, anyway. The last match with Rusev was good. Maybe this one will be—

Rusev charges him when he’s halfway through the ropes. Slams him against the apron, into the stairs, into the other stairs. Pain fills him up, bright and fierce and alive. He still doesn’t seem to care much about it. But Rusev cares enough for both of them, screaming “This is for my wife!” as Roman pushes himself up on hands and knees.

To hell with the championship. A fight sounds pretty awesome.

And it kind of is, right up until he sees that steel chair in Rusev’s hand and loses his mind. Even that’s a relief. Let go of self-control and just hit as hard and often as he can. Open the cage and let the animal out.

At least, he thinks it will be a relief. It’s not really. He’s hot and his heart is pounding and, sure, he’s feeling no pain, but he can’t quite escape a distant awareness that he’ll be embarrassed later. Afterwards, when he gets backstage...he has a splitting headache from all the head butts and he can’t look Dean in the eye. 

Roman used to love fighting. He felt like a million bucks after a match. Now he just feels sweaty and gross and a little nauseous.

Maybe he only ever loved hugging Dean and Seth. 

No. He reminds himself of that first match with Finn. He _can_ love this. He can. Just not today. 

Dean has to do interviews. “You want to stick around, get a beer later? Come back to my place?” He waggles his eyebrows.

It sounds so fucking easy and comfortable, like getting out of a suit and putting on pajamas. Roman wants it way too bad to sit and wait another hour or two for it. “Naw, man, I’m tired out. Next time, though, definitely.”

If Dean’s disappointed, he doesn’t show it. “I hear ya, man. Take a nap!”

A nap? It’s almost eleven. Roman’s going to Skype Galina and go to bed. Maybe he’ll put on his pajamas and Skype Galina _in_ bed. Maybe she won’t ask if he’s okay.

Who’s he kidding? He can’t wait for Galina to ask if he’s okay so he can say no, can’t wait to talk to someone who’s known him forever and who he’s never had to get in a ring with.

“Dean!” a PA yells from down the hall. “We’re ready for you.” 

“I think you might have the right idea, brother.” Dean pulls him into one last hug. “You don’t want back in this grind.”

Dean’s just trying to save Roman some face, but it’s the truest thing he’s ever said. Roman doesn’t want back in.

He can hear Finn laughing down the hall with his family. Maybe he didn’t even watch Roman’s fight; he must have been washing all that paint off. Maybe he doesn’t know yet.

Roman walks out without saying goodbye to Finn’s parents. Good thing his mom won’t ever know that. He’s disappointed her enough for one evening.

*

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Finn looks nervous.

Roman isn’t sure, actually. But the alternative is telling Finn he doesn’t get the big deal, that he thinks it’s weird and artsy.

Admitting that the demon creeps him out. 

But it’s just makeup. Makeup that makes Finn feel confident and aggressive. Roman can handle that. Roman wants to handle that, doesn’t he? He wants to get his hands all over it. He shivers, remembering how turned on he was when Finn stomped on Seth’s knees. “Sure, why not?”

Finn sighs. “Well, here goes nothing. Come on, you want to watch?” So Roman sits on the floor by the hotel sink and watches Finn paint his face. 

At first Finn talks nervously. “I usually fly in a professional artist to do this for me, so it won’t look as good,” he says, and “I kind of borrowed this neck-mouth thing from Venom. I’ve wrestled as Venom a few times but the WWE has to be more careful about intellectual property.” 

But as he goes he quiets down, focuses, relaxes. His movements become smoother, his breathing more even. He looks...a little loopy, actually, by the time he turns to Roman. Happy and about to stumble. “You want to finish me off?”

Roman carries the jumble of paints to the bed in a towel, which he lays over the sheets. It’s not going to help in the long run, but whatever. “What should I draw?”

“I told you, it doesn’t matter.” Finn spreads his arms, faceplanting serenely on the bed. “Just take your time and go slow. It’s like...meditation. And visualization. It wakes up the demon and brings him to the surface.”

Roman isn’t exactly a great artist, but he guesses that isn’t the point. Finn won’t even see it. Roman straddles his ass like he’s gonna give him a backrub or dry hump him or something, but instead he dips a brush in the jar of black and starts painting. After a few strokes, he can’t resist ditching the brush and using his fingers. He draws an eye, painting in the white and black. He hesitates, hovering over the blue paint, and then paints the eye’s iris brown. His attempt at red veins doesn’t come out so great, but who cares? What matters is Finn’s back under his fingertips, hard and soft at once. The way Finn lies there, breathing peacefully in and out, and lets Roman use him as a canvas. His ass presses against Roman’s dick. What was he worried about? This is going to be fine.

He doesn’t know what to draw after the eye. There’s only one kind of body art he’s ever given much real thought to, but Finn isn’t Samoan and it feels wrong to draw those patterns in something that will smear away. In the end he just follows Finn’s muscles, traces swirls and cross-hatches and colors them in. It’s a good thing Finn won’t see this because the colors are turning pea-soup green, like when Joelle mixes too many watercolors together—

Finn shudders. 

His eyes snap open. He twists his neck to look at Roman, far enough it looks uncomfortable. Roman lifts up onto his knees so Finn can turn over.

Finn slithers out from between his legs, too fast, grabbing Roman’s arm and flipping him hard onto his back. Harder than Roman thought he could. With a grin, he climbs on top of him. His thighs are too hot against Roman’s skin. Roman presses a palm to Finn’s forehead. He’s burning up. Like every parent, Roman knows you can’t even feel a fever unless you use your lips.

Time to put it out there. State the obvious. “So, uh. It’s not just body paint. There’s really a demon in there.” He’s surprised by how calm he feels.

Finn’s eyes gleam. “Told you.”

“I thought you were just being a nerd,” Roman admits. Now that he knows what he’s dealing with, what he’s looking at, that he isn’t just losing it, his crawling uneasiness evaporates. But he’s a good Catholic boy. To an extent, anyway. Enough to not just fuck a demon without a little more information. “I, uh...can I talk to Finn?”

Finn shakes his head as if he’s trying to clear it. “You are. Talking to Finn. The demon doesn’t talk.” A pause. “I don’t talk so well when he’s awake. He...takes up space.”

Finn reaching for words is cute. Roman wants to kiss him. Kiss the demon? He wants to run his fingers over the fangs on Finn’s throat. Whew. Everything is working out fine. He thinks. Okay, wait another second. He needs to make sure this is cool and he’s not, like...having sex with something that’s hurting Finn. “Do you need help? An exorcism—”

Finn rears back, hissing, something frightened and frightening flaring in his face. Roman grabs his wrists and stares into his eyes and doesn’t let go. “If you need help, I will help you. Whatever it takes.”

“No,” Finn growls. “No. He’s mine.”

Roman squints. “Is that...is Finn the demon’s, or is the demon Finn’s? You see my problem here.”

Finn makes himself relax, or...calms down the demon? He mutters soothingly to himself, jumbled sounds or maybe he’s speaking Irish. “I’m Finn,” he says again. “The demon...I guess I’m the demon too. But he...doesn’t speak any language I know. He feels things. I think he’s on the run from gambling debts? Not clear on the details. I know he’s hiding. We help each other out. We’re...one thing. Symbiotic. He helps me be strong. I take care of him. Feed him, talk to him...love him, I guess. You never met Fergal Devitt. I’ve been Finn Balor since you knew me. You like me, right? So you’ve probably got a soft spot for the demon. Only...he’s a big napper. So when I need to really wake him up...”

“The body paint.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. If you’re sure.” Roman pulls Finn down.

“That’s it? You’re dating a demon, and it’s ‘okay, if you’re sure’?”

Roman thinks about it. “Yeah. Is there something else you want me to say? I’m sure I could come up with a speech if you gave me half an hour and a thesaurus.”

Finn giggles. Roman guesses the demon likes dumb jokes as much as Finn does. “Give us a kiss then.”

Roman can smell greasepaint as Finn lowers his head. It turns him on. “Wait, no, wait, there is something else.”

Finn hisses. Roman sympathizes.

“You said...you wanted to wait for the demon to get used to me. Does it...does he like me?”

Finn puts his face very close to Roman’s. His eyes make Roman dizzy. He’s kind of preparing himself to hear ‘he wants to drink your blood,’ and trying to decide if that’s something he’d consider. 

Finn licks his cheek.

Roman jerks his face away, startled and ticklish and laughing. 

“He likes space. More introverted than me in a way. You’ve grown on him.” He pulls back, eyes dark. He looks like a predator, still and watchful, but then he says, “He’s getting...protective. Of you,” and Roman realizes he was just looking for words. “He knows I’m happy. I think...” Finn tilts his head. “He misses your beard.” 

Roman grins. “We’ll see.”

These last weeks, Finn’s made him feel...okay. Normal. As if, after so long, whatever he does is no big deal. He wants to give that back. He wants Finn to know he means it. He pulls Finn down for a kiss, slowly, not wanting to startle him. Finn shifts restlessly, wanting even more than usual to be the one touching, the one kissing. But Roman says, “Please,” and with a sigh Finn lets him nuzzle in his neck, rub his face against Finn’s chest and suck his nipples. Sweep his hands over Finn’s ribs and down his belly. 

“Faster,” Finn says through his teeth, broken and guttural. Roman laughs and lets him take over. 

Finn pushes Roman down impatiently, lubes his dick up, and sits on it. That unnatural heat around his cock is something, all right. 

It strikes Roman as adorable that sex with the demon is so much less kinky than sex with just Finn. You’d think it would be the other way around. He guesses the demon doesn’t have the patience.

*

They clean up at the sink. Finn smears cold cream on his face and starts wiping the paint off with a torn Tapout shirt, slow even strokes, humming what Roman assumes from the tune is an Irish lullaby. He’s got an open bottle of baby shampoo sitting on the counter. The smell makes Roman smile. 

He considers himself in the mirror. He’s got paint all over his face, his chest, his hands. Smears of it on the inside of his thighs. He’s covered in demon.

Finn’s eyes open. “He’s asleep now. Are you okay? How do you feel?”

The first thing Roman thinks is weird. He probably shouldn’t say it. But maybe...maybe he should. Maybe it would be nice for Finn to hear. “I feel clean.”

Finn snickers, his eyes going to the paint smears. Then he looks moved, and then he looks...angry. The demon isn’t the only one who’s protective. It makes Roman feel self-conscious and weak but God, he wants it. 

Sitting on the edge of the counter, he pulls Roman in for a kiss, wrapping his legs around his waist. He holds Roman there when he’s done kissing him, their foreheads pressed together. “You’re the cleanest person I know. Pure as a knife edge.” 

That's bullshit, but in this moment Roman could almost believe it. He used to feel this way all the time. Simple. Whole. Freshly sharpened. 

_A weapon in the Shield’s hand,_ he thinks, out of nowhere.

Maybe it’s all right not to feel that way anymore. Maybe it’s just growing up. “Thanks,” he says anyway, and picks Finn up, kissing him again. He’s not ready to wash off yet. “Let’s watch an old pay-per-view.”

Finn actually bounces against his chest. “Fuck yeah! I need you to clean my back and then can we watch SummerSlam ’95?”

Roman laughs. As if he’s going to say no.


End file.
